Stuck!
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn gets stuck.


"Dad, what are you doing?" Shawn asked, watching from the stool at the island in the center of the kitchen as his father dropped what looked like two pieces of paper on the corner of the floor. He took a bite of his sandwich and turned to Gus, who was sitting next to him, as if his friend might know the answer to the question.

"Trying to catch that damn mouse," Henry muttered bitterly, brushing his hands off on his jeans as he stood up. "He's eaten through his last box of taco shells. Damn stupid rodent."

"You're going to catch a mouse with paper?" Shawn asked, still confused.

"It's not paper, Shawn," Gus explained knowledgeably before Henry could say another word, putting his sandwich back on his plate. "It's a glue trap. Right, Mr. Spencer? The mouse gets stuck in the glue, and you get rid of him."

"Right, Gus," Henry nodded, shooting a reproving glance at his son. "At least _one_ of you was paying attention."

"But won't that hurt the mouse?" Shawn gasped, his eyes growing wide in horror.

"It's a mouse, Shawn," Henry growled, buttoning his uniform shirt the rest of the way up as he checked his watch. "The glue trap won't hurt him as much as he's hurting my property value."

He grabbed his wallet off the counter, mussing his son's hair before heading out the door.

"Your mom should be home in an hour," he told him. "You and Gus stay around here until then. I don't want you riding your bikes all over the neighborhood when there's no one around."

"Okay," Shawn agreed, taking another bite of his lunch. He waited until he heard the back door slam shut and his father's truck pull away before standing up and walking over to the glue traps.

"What are you doing?" Gus asked, wiping a milk mustache off his face as he watched his friend stare down at the deadly papers.

"My dad can't kill Mr. Fuzzball!" Shawn exclaimed.

"Mr. Fuzzball?" Gus repeated, looking mildly ill. "Shawn! Please tell me you didn't name the mouse!"

"Of course I did!" Shawn snorted. "My dad wouldn't let me get a dog. What choice did I have?"

"You didn't have to adopt a rodent!"

"Mr. Fuzzball isn't a rodent!" Shawn insisted, kneeling next to the traps, examining them carefully. "He's a mouse."

He poked at one of the traps cautiously, quickly pulling his finger back before it got stuck.

"Don't touch it, Shawn," Gus warned, putting his glass of milk down and standing up when he saw what his friend was thinking, but it was too late.

Shawn had already snatched the trap up in one of his hands.

"Why not?" he grinned, standing up again and walking over to the trash can.

Gus followed him, knowing bad things were about to happen.

"It's not that sticky," Shawn continued, dropping it into the trash can.

At least, he _tried_ to drop it into the trash can…

But it didn't come off.

He tried again, shaking his hand more emphatically this time, but it didn't do him any good.

It was stuck tight.

"Gus!" he gasped, waving his hand frantically through the air. "It's stuck! I can't get it off!"

"Seriously?" Gus snorted, rolling his eyes. "You're stuck in a glue trap?"

"Yes!"

Shawn grabbed the gluey paper with his left hand, managing to wrench his right hand free of the sticky prison.

"Whew!" he sighed, once again going to throw it into the trash. "That was close!"

He shook his left hand sharply over the trash can, but the trap wouldn't come off.

"Come on!" he moaned, once again waving his hand frantically through the air. "I'm still stuck!" He snatched it up in his right hand again, but this time he couldn't pull his left hand free.

Both hands were firmly stuck in the glue now..

"Why don't you use your feet?" Gus suggested, grinning in evil pleasure as he watched his friend flail helplessly, still unable to shake either hand free of the trap's death grip.

Shawn squatted down on the floor, stepping on the edge of the glue trap with his sneaker. He stood up quickly, trying to rip free, but it didn't work. The trap held both of his hands tight, and now his sneaker was stuck in it, too.

"Gus! Help me!"

Gus laughed, watching his friend struggling to stand up but being pulled back down each time. "Take your sneaker off," he suggested next. "You'll be able to stand up, at least."

Shawn sighed and stepped out of his shoe. Now that his foot was out of the glue trap, he could stand up, but his sneaker was still firmly attached. It dangled from the bottom of the trap, perfectly centered between his immovable hands. As he turned around to face Gus again, the sneaker gently swayed back and forth.

"Come on, Gus!" Shawn pleaded. "Help me!"

"Okay," Gus grunted, already tugging on the shoe, trying to pull the glue trap away from Shawn's hands.

"It's not working!" Shawn moaned, pulling in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, Gus stumbled backwards and fell to the floor as the trap released one of Shawn's hands. Shawn was thrown off-balance, too, and he fell backwards, bumping his head against one of the cabinets behind him.

"Ow!" he yelped, putting his free hand to the back of his head to stop the pain.

"Shawn!" Gus jumped up from the floor, reaching for his friend before it was too late.

But it was already too late…

Shawn had touched his hair with his sticky hand.

"Oh, man!" he groaned, realizing a moment too late that his left hand was now stuck to the back of his head while his right hand and left sneaker remained attached to the glue trap.

Gus couldn't help it anymore.

He just started laughing.

"It's not funny!" Shawn insisted, trying desperately to free at least one appendage.

He didn't get too far, however, as Henry walked back in at that moment.

Shawn and Gus immediately froze.

"Hi, Dad!" Shawn grinned innocently after a long moment of silence in which Henry had been regarding him with a look of horror combined with befuddled rage. He waved with his "free" hand, hoping vaguely his father wouldn't ask him why it was stuck to a glue trap and a sneaker.

Henry blinked, not even knowing where to start.

Finally, he found a place.

"Shawn!" he growled. "What the hell is wrong with you? What are you _doing?_"

"Uh…" Shawn stammered, looking to Gus for help. "I…was trying to save Mr. Fuzzball."

"Who the hell is Mr. Fuzzball?" Henry snapped, storming over to his son. With one powerful yank, he got the glue trap off his hand, taking a layer of skin with it.

"Ow!" Shawn yelped.

"You think that was bad," Henry muttered, rolling his eyes as he examined the hand attached to the back of his son's head. "Wait until you pull this one off. What were you thinking, Shawn? Why didn't you just leave the glue traps alone?"

"I wanted to save Mr. Fuzzball!" Shawn insisted again.

Henry rolled his eyes.

"I don't think you had to worry about the mouse, Kid," he mumbled, grabbing a pair of scissors of the counter, preparing to cut a chunk of his son's hair out. "Even mice don't get stuck in these things unless they're baited."


End file.
